A Complex Man
by ThisShipSailsItsSelf
Summary: Mycroft's POV. Caring IS an advantage, so long as self-preservation is at the bottom of your list. And when Sherlock Holmes is your little brother, How could self-preservation ever even find the space to be ON the list... Chapter 4! Mycroft's plan is set in motion. Complete (I think-maybe-possibly) *As usual, Friendship, but you don't have to squint very hard to read it as Romance
1. Chapter 1

A Complex Man

**Part: 1- Playing Big Brother**

"So baby brother, how_ have_ you been?" Mycroft asked, his voice like silk.

"Sod off Mycroft." Was all he got in return. Well that and a middle finger. Charming.

Outwardly, he permitted a serene, mild smile. Sherlock could be such a child. He was annoyed, of course, but showing even a hint of that would be a mistake. The last time he'd ever let Sherlock see him perturbed, he'd been 12 and had merely frowned and looked down when Sherlock insinuated for the first time that he'd put on weight. They were middle aged men now and still never a meeting went by without some crude fat joke.

The truth was, Mycroft's feathers were positively ruffled at the moment. This lack of communication was hardly new. It became clear to Mycroft at a very young age that he and his brother were going to have a rather tedious pattern for the rest of their lives. Sherlock would make a mess. Mycroft would clean it. Sherlock would resent him for it. Mycroft would do it again anyways. And he had decided, all those years ago, that he would not fight this dynamic. Because his little brother was certainly smarter than the rest of the world. But he was not smarter than him. Sherlock would never see the simple truth: he _needed_ tedious. Like a drowning man needed a life perserver. Tedious was safe, predictable, and (most importantly) _dependable_ in a world he would never be able to depend on. A world that would forever be against him. And if Sherlock hated him for providing this, all the better.

_Sentiment_ kept Mycroft in this terribly unhealthy, depressing position. _Caring_ made him weak enough to keep swooping in to save the day no matter how unappreciated. Yes. It was certainly better Sherlock never learned the burden of sentiment. _Caring is not an advantage_. Ever. It had always been some measure of comfort to Mycroft, that his strategy was such a double edged sword: Play 'Big Brother' and protect Sherlock from himself, while at the same time teaching him to despise such sentiment, thereby protecting him from everyone else.

And yet, one short, fierce little ex-army doctor had managed to make his strategy practically obsolete. And therein lied the true origin of Mycroft's agitation.

**A/N Wow, okay, so I've been working on a different story the last few days, but essentially, I suck at silly little details like "plot development" or "background information" or "how much time has passed" or "setting." Haha Which explains why everything I write is usually a character study. It's not that I **_**can't**_** do the other stuff, It's that I find climbing into someone's head infinitely more interesting!**

**So I decided to treat myself to a little of Mycroft's headspace as a break from the other fic. It's still going to happen eventually, because seriously folks, I need the practice. It may be slow going/awful… but I'm determined.**

**Please review! Mycroft's a hard man to read lol so let me know how I faired! Part 2 will probably be up tomorrow :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 2- Sitting in his Chair**

"Leave." Sherlock's voice was imperious, but his face was childlike in its stubborn glare.

"Come now, Sherlock. Be civil."

"If you're here to try and give me a case, I'm far too busy. If this you checking up on me, please rewind your memory to exactly three minutes ago when I told you to _sod off_."

"This is merely a social call." He replied evenly.

"You don't make social calls. So get out. John will be home soon and the last thing he'll want to see is your fat arse in _his_ chair." Sherlock gave a pointed look towards the chair in question, then threw himself into the fetal position, back to Mycroft.

Mycroft hadn't needed the jab. He knew perfectly well he was sitting in John's chair. He also knew it drove his brother mad. Which is part of the reason why he always chooses to sit in it. There was a deeper reason, of course, and he wondered idly if it had ever occurred to Sherlock. It certainly never crossed simple minded John's. A lesser man might have frowned ever so slightly, or shifted unconsciously. But Mycroft Holmes never did a thing in his life that wasn't perfectly conscious.

Another small part of it was simple curiosity over Sherlock's reaction. He had always been possessive. Down-right territorial, even. But never on someone else's behalf. Why should Sherlock care where he chose to sit, so long as it wasn't in Sherlock's spot? John wasn't even in the flat at the moment. The answer was blindingly obvious: sentiment. Which brought Mycroft back to the true problem at hand. John had destroyed everything he had worked so tirelessly towards. He taught Sherlock to be sentimental. To be human. To be weak. He had, to be melodramatic, broken Sherlock. Except, he hadn't. And that was the worst of it.

Instead, John had supplied an ulterior route to Sherlock's protection. Sherlock could afford to be reckless with his feelings because John could be depended on to protect them. He willingly acted as a translator between Sherlock and the world. Diffusing tension, making the appropriate apologies, defending his integrity. Not only that, he saved Sherlock from himself. He kept him relatively fed, cleaned, and clothed. His company staved off the very worst of his self-destructive behaviour. John's calming presence seemed to soothe his brother in ways Mycroft would not have believed possible.

And worst of all, John did it all without any of the emotional backlash Mycroft had always had to deal with. So yes, sitting in Johns chair had a certain…symbolic quality. There was a definitive pleasure to be had in taking what wasn't his, simply because he could.

**A/N Silly Mycroft, you sit in his chair because you're jealous of John and want to 'be in his position.' What was that about "never did a thing unconsciously?" …pfft. Please. Oh well, it seems both the Holmes boys can be ignorant about themselves sometimes.**

**Review :) Love it? Hate it? Ideas? Suggestions? Comments? Concerns?**


	3. Chapter 3

**Part 3- Assessing the Situation**

"It sounds has if John is home." Mycroft remarks, sounding bored. Though he's anything but.

"Obviously." Sherlock smirks as he says it, a glint in his eye. Clearly hoping John will be in a bad enough mood to give Mycroft a 'telling off' for being in their home.

John's voice is cheery talking to Mrs. Hudson though, and his gait is even and sure as he climbs the stairs. "No such luck brother, he's had a good day." Sherlock's face fades from smug to deceptively impassive, and then, to make up for the fat joke, Mycroft speculates in his blandest voice, "Perhaps he's met someone again. A new co-worker? Most likely a pretty, young new nurse. Hope you don't have a case anytime soon, wouldn't want John too distracted from The Work."

Mycroft has just enough time to adequately assess whether the jab has hit home or not before John enters the flat. He immediately nods towards Sherlock and appears to be about to offer a cuppa, when he notices Mycroft sitting smugly in his chair.

"Afternoon Mycroft." A nod in his direction. Civil, practically warm. Yes definitely a good mood then.

Mycroft lets a small smile stretch his face, "John, I was just on my way out. I wouldn't wish to intrude on your good mood, that's Sherlock's job after all." He gets a tongue stuck out at him for that remark. Childish. "Though might I ask what the lady's name is?"

John is far too used to being deduced to be surprised, but he does let out a slight, put-upon sigh. "No getting anything past a Holmes, of course. Her name is Anna. New nurse down at the clinic."

"Well, I hope the two of you have a lovely evening. Sherlock, try not to blow yourself up when he's gone, will you?" Sherlock's face is down-right thunderous, and for a moment Mycroft feels a twinge of remorse for leaving John with his brother in such a dark mood. Then the twinge is gone and he gets up and coolly strides out the door. He has been cruel today, he knows. But every necessary action has its price.

John is clearly still on this whole 'find a nice girl and settle down' lark of his. Which means John believes he wishes to leave eventually. Mycroft doesn't consider this particularly likely, but John is nothing if not contrary. And this little meeting has confirmed without a doubt that Sherlock desperately wishes him to stay. He'll never tell John though, which is, of course, Mycroft's fault. Sherlock is making a mess out of his and John's relationship. And though he'll resent the next step in Mycroft's plan more than this first one, cleaning up messes is Mycroft's job. And he never was one to shirk his duties.

**A/N I'm kind of loving writing Mycroft, he's so manipulative and he has so many layers to him! I could spend forever psycho-analysing his every move lol Not to mention he's an excellent vehicle to analyse everyone else through :) Next chapter SHOULD bring this particular arc to a close, but I'm thinking of giving Mycroft and Lestrade a chapter or two, if I can find a way that isn't too contrived. Otherwise it'll be a separate fic. So if you have any suggestions on that, I'd love to hear them! **

**As always, I love to hear what you have to say so please review!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Part 4 – Putting John through the Wringer**

"Why have you kidnapped me this time then?" His voice is tired, and a little annoyed, but not angry.

"Just looking to have a little chat with you John." Mycroft replies mildly.

"Look, if this is about Sherlock, you boys will just have to learn to talk to each other because I refuse to be the go-between anymore!"

"Do keep that temper in check John," His tone calm as always. "This is actually about you. How is Anna, it's been-what-two weeks since the first date?"

John huffed, "None of your business, Mycroft."

"So you've broken up then, my condolences. But I suppose you'll have a new date soon enough, you do remarkably well in that area, after all."

"Listen here, I may not know where it was, I'm far too tired from a long night chasing after your mad brother and a long day at the clinic capped off with yet another kidnapping to figure out where exactly, but there was an insult in there somewhere, and I don't appreciate it." His eyes flashed with anger despite the obvious sag in his shoulders which belayed the truth in his words.

Mycroft, seemingly unperturbed by the outburst merely continued, "Much better than my brothers ever done. Though, once again, you have shown your talent for sentiment. Who knew my brother was capable of it before you came along?"

John treated Mycroft to a long look, obviously trying to work out where this was headed. "Well…I suppose…the Yarders do claim he's calmed down some recently. But I can hardly take credit-" He stammered before being cut off.

"Nonsense, you're entirely to blame" His voice praising. He was watching John sharply, and the shorter man seemed too confused by the compliment to realise he had switched 'credit' for 'blame.'

"Well thank you, I guess." His voice was so genuine Mycroft nearly left it there, _nearly_. In the end, mercy was not really _his_ area.

"Yes, well done, you've managed to completely strip him of his armor." His voice turned snide. "Taught him to care what other people think, though he hides it well. Taught him to let fear for another's life slow the usual lightning fast calculations of his brain, right in the moments he needs to focus most." And then lightened again, "But that's no problem, really, because you've always been a very loyal man to Sherlock. Always ready with that Browning in a sticky situation. Isn't that right John?

"I…I don't…" John's face was dazed. He couldn't figure out how they'd gotten to this point, or where it was heading, but he had a sickening feeling this did not bode well for him.

Mycrofts smile turned predatory, and he swooped in for the kill. "Tell me then, what will he do, with these co-dependencies and crumbling emotional walls when you are gone? When you've left him for some simpleton housewife and the suburbs? Do you really expect him to survive now that you've stripped him of every shield he had in place? He was barely coping as was. Now…?" He let the sentence hang. Let John fill in the gaps himself. Let his imagination do a more thorough job than Mycroft could ever do. _Self-destructive Sherlock, alone with his thoughts. Sociopathic Sherlock, alone in a world full of social cues he couldn't follow. Sensitive Sherlock, alone in a city full of enemies._

John seemed pale for a few long moments. And then Mycroft watched his whole posture shift. The tired-clinic-doctor becoming the soldier. His eyes blazing, his jaw set, and his posture aggressively authoritative. "Then I won't go. I'll stay with him." He said, his voice decisive.

Mycroft felt a small measure of relief, but stifled it quickly, they were hardly through here. "You're willing to be my brother's keeper,_ forever_? Come now John, you are hardly reasonable. You want a wife, kids, and a white picket fence. You want normal. Life with Sherlock is anything but." The ultimate test, and a risky one.

He watches a momentary struggle, and then the decision to be honest settles on John's features. "I am happy here. If you tell me – honestly tell me- that Sherlock is happy with me here, then what more is there to discuss? As much as I've always dreamed of a domestic end to my life, it seems rather clear I require a slightly more, _adventurous_ lifestyle choice. I need action, adrenaline, and a purpose. I need Sherlock. More than all those other things, I need Sherlock." John flushes slightly at the outpour, but stands his ground and holds eye contact.

Mycroft is rather impressed. It seems the doctor has put some thought into this prior to their current friendly chat. Not to mention he's seen very few men withstand his 'tactics.' For all he couldn't forgive John, there was no denying he was impressive. Hardly the man his stature, cuddly sweaters, and friendly smile hinted at. Still, "He certainly finds you useful," is all he allows.

"That is not what I'm asking." There's that captain's voice. Mycroft raises an eyebrow at it, but obliges.

"Yes. My brother is probably the happiest I've ever seen him." The admittance is painful, but his face remains clear. This meeting is not about him.

"Then that's it." The note of finality in his voice is unmistakable.

"Glad we could have this chat, Anthea will see you get home." A clear dismissal.

John nods briskly, then turns away. Before he's taken more than a few steps though, he turns around. "I'm assuming I've just been horribly manipulated here, and I'm not impressed by your tactics. But I know you Mycroft Holmes, and you never do anything you don't believe is for the greater good. So thank you, I think, on behalf of me _and_ Sherlock. Well, me and Sherlock if all goes as I hope it does when I get back to the flat…"

Ridiculous really, that this reasonably intelligent man should still question his importance. But his faith in the omniscient elder Holmes is clearly significant. "I wouldn't be too worried John."

And then he's out the door and Mycroft can breathe a sigh of relief. Crisis averted, for now. If Mycroft knows anything, he knows that John's agreement is a precarious one at best. Wholly dependent on Sherlock. If he doesn't learn to be a bit more _demonstrative_ in his affection and appreciation, no amount of interference will prevent the stubborn doctor from leaving 221B in hopes of a more…mutual, relationship. And that will be a mess Mycroft won't be able to clean up.

Still, if anyone has the power to get through to Sherlock in matters of the heart, John Watson is the man to do it. And if it pained Mycroft, well, that wasn't particularly important, now was it? If he, perhaps, wished to be on good terms with the consultant detective, instead of the despised-yet-necessary presence, what did it matter? After all, he'd decided at a very young age that on his list of priorities, Sherlock came first.

**A/N So this chapter was long! By my standards anyways… **

**What did everyone think? I love Mycroft's character because he's so contradictory. He's villainous and heroic; manipulative and selfless; icy intellect and a sentimental heart. He saves the day and gets exactly what he wants through his own means and on his own terms. And yet there is no happy ending for him, is there? Not even any credit really, always pulling strings behind the scenes in his 'minor position in the government.'**

**And poor John, I certainly wouldn't have fared half so well haha I just _had_ to give him a little dignity at the end there, and besides, he always has had a talent for seeing through our favourite Holmes boys.**

**Anyways, I hope I did an ok job portraying my little vision of Mycroft Holmes. Please review and let me know :)**


End file.
